While the yellow curtains tickle her nose with their dust.
She thinks to herself — Thank God, the wait
Is almost over. For every question there is always an answer -
Swiftly encroaching on muted feet, the night
Invades the scene, unnoticed by the girl.
She remembers the times when she was a little girl.
Back then, she never liked to sit quietly by the window.
She and her siblings would play all day long until the night
Would rush down upon them and dust
The countryside with its dark answer
To the question the sun asks each morning and spends the whole day awaiting.
Her silent eyes barely even blink as she sits and waits.
She knows that soon she will no longer be a girl -
She will be a married woman. “Is that the answer?“
She whispers to the face reflected in the window.
But the window remains still and covered in dust
And makes no reply, only letting in more of the night.
She leans her head on the curtain, imagining her escape into the night,
While two white envelopes anxiously lay waiting
On her lap. Like a sudden storm, the dust
Snows on the forgotten letters as the naive girl
Abruptly snaps her head away from the window.
Echoing footsteps approach from down the hall, answering
One another in careful rhythm. Can her own answer
Be far behind? A door closes and the dark night
Swallows the sounds. She watches a figure through the window
Until its form is fuzzy and gone. She waits,
As always, motionless, like a statue. The girl
Sneezes and absent-mindedly brushes the dust
From her nose. –Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
What does it matter? It is all the same, the answer
Is irrelevant!- The tired eyes of the young girl
Quiver once and peer intently at the night,
Which prowls around the yard like a hungry tiger waiting
For an opportunity to slip in through the windows.
The young girl, framed like a portrait by the window,
Sits throughout the night with the dark and the dust,
Patiently waiting for the dawning of her answer.